Oh, God. That sounded absolutely all wrong. The more he spoke, the deeper the hole he was digging. From her perspective it wasn’t going to make any sense.

“Okay, I cannot even figure out what is going on here . . . there was this woman at Rafe’s condo and his stuff is all gone, and she said she’s his girlfriend and that they’ve moved in together. She invited me to dinner with the two of them, but now you’re telling me that Rafe is in New Orleans? And my friend Jocelyn ran the samples I gave her, and she did a fingerprint search on the print from the Anne Donovan sketch, because I forgot to tell her I didn’t need a search, but here’s the really bizarre thing—she found a match. That fingerprint on the sketch matches a woman named Marguerite Charles who was arrested for running a prostitution ring in Louisiana in 2003. Louisiana. Marguerite Charles. A match. And the woman who said she’s Rafe’s girlfriend also said her name was Marguerite. What kind of a freak-out coincidence is all of that?”

Marguerite. Gabriel’s eyes shot open. He started pacing again, kicking Raphael’s foot to get his attention. “Marguerite’s prints match prints from the Donovan crime scene?”

“Yes.”

Holy shit. Alex’s daughter was a killer. Gabriel would have never suspected in a million years, had no reason to suspect. Raphael’s eyes had gone wide in shock, but there was no skepticism. He looked like he believed Marguerite perfectly capable of murder.

“It’s obviously some bizarre mistake,” Sara said, “since it’s not possible that a woman today could match the prints of someone from a hundred-and-fifty-some years ago, but the whole thing is just off . . . I don’t understand any of it.”

It was entirely too possible, and Gabriel felt the firm grip of fear when he realized what exactly Sara had said earlier. “Marguerite was at Rafe’s condo? She’s in Naples?”

Raphael jumped off the bed. “Gabriel. Sara’s in danger.”

That was exactly what he had just determined. And they were both a thousand miles away from her.

“Yes. Do you know Marguerite? Right as she was leaving she told me to say hi to you. I’m so completely confused, and I’m angry because I feel like you know what’s going on and you’re not telling me.”

He wanted to, but there wasn’t time. And you didn’t tell someone about your immortality over the phone anyway. “Sara, listen to me, sweetheart. I’ll explain everything as soon as I get to Naples. I’m going to catch the next flight. Stay with your friend until I get there, okay? And don’t go anywhere near Rafe’s condo or Marguerite.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I think Marguerite killed your mother. So does Rafe.”